Proposal
by Fiore Di Fenice
Summary: Short companion to Logical Conclusions: Alice has a case of lost muchness after Tarrant proposes during a ball, and Chessur isn't happy, not one little bit.


**A/N: This just randomly popped into my head due to an rp I've been in on twitter (I'm perfectly_mad, if you'd like to look me up!); I don't remember what was even said, but I did enjoy writing this one, despite the OOCness I may have done (it's hard to tell at midnight).**

**Thanks and love go to Jess (a.k.a. Nina Faustin on ff.n) and Nat the Cat for helping me out with this! As I've said before, my writing would totally suck without my friends' help, so I always like to give credit where credit is due (and it's always due)!**

**So basically, this is a bit of a sequel to **_**Logical Conclusions**_**, a scene that'll happen a couple months after the end. I've got a couple of 'sequels' running amok in my head, so if I can get them calmed down enough so that they'll cooperate in writing, those shall be up as well. : )**

**Enjoy!**

**~Leiary**

Alice was running, running from the ball, the people- the overwhelming crowd of people- and Tarrant. Especially Tarrant. Tarrant Hightopp, royal hatter to the rightful White Queen, partially mad, perfectly full of muchness, had just proposed to _her_, Alice Kingsleigh, Champion of Underland, newly resided into said Underland, partially mad, and severely lacking her muchness. Into the dark garden she ran, trying to run far away from the lights and the people so she could _think_ -so bloody noisy in that place one couldn't if she tried- and review on what exactly had just happened: Tarrant had proposed to Alice right there, in the midst of the dancing, loud enough for the entirety of Underland to hear, and hear they did. They heard well enough to congratulate her before she could even give an answer, which they all naturally assumed would be 'yes'. Naturally, because who was better for each other than the Mad Hatter and the almost-equally mad Champion? In the whole of Underland's logic, they should be quite right for each other, wish you well, may you have health and children, etc., etc. _Stop!_ Alice demanded of herself quite sternly. _You're rambling as terribly as... him. _

Him being Tarrant, who she had left without an answer in the middle of everyone. Tarrant, who was surely thoroughly confused after she had muttered, "I need a moment." Tarrant, who was completely, utterly separate from Hamish in all ways, and yet had ran from his words, from _him_, in exactly the same manner. Running was her specialty, it seemed, running from things that really ought to be taken care of that minute. And yet, she was running through the hedges, running as she always did.

She came to a low stone bench carved with the images of roses that twined themselves around the legs. Sitting wearily on the cold seat, she slouched, taking great pride in the fact that it wasn't lady-like at all, and put her chin in her hand. "You won't cry, Alice Kingsleigh," she told herself, then, unbidden, she whispered, "Alice Hightopp."

Suddenly, a voice purred from somewhere above her, "Trying out the new name?"

Alice retorted, "What new name? No one said I was going to answer positively."

Chessur materialized in front of her, tail twitching in a particularly agitated manner. "Oh, aren't you now? So you're going to refuse him?"

"Well-"

"Ah, but you _are_ young," he cut her off with a mocking grin, "and wasn't there a young man looking for your hand, along with the rest of you, Above? Is _that_ why you seem to be ready to refuse?"

"No!"

"So," he drawled malignantly, narrowing his ethereal eyes, "there is someone else? You aren't here to stay? If _that _be the case, I'm sure there are _plenty _of young boys who'd fight the devil himself for your hand-"

"Chessur!" Alice cried miserably. "Stop it!"

"And why should I? Absolem is _right_," the Cat bit, seemingly unmoved by the streaks of tears flowing freely now from her brown eyes, "you _are_ a _stupid_ girl. You've left Tarrant- who, granted, would choke the life out of me with his lovely hat if given the chance, but that's neither here, there, left, right, up, nor down- who is simply _mad_ for you, if you'll pardon the expression, who would surely rip his own organs, namely his _heart_, from his chest if it would please you, who _drew the Jabberwock's attention from you_ on the Frabjous day, knowing that his _very life_ would be forfeit, for _you_, you insolent, ungrateful, _slurvish_, _stupid_, _girl!_"

No answer came from the young woman in being verbally attacked, for she was too busy burying her face in her arms and sobbing. Chessur's resolve softened, cracked, and dissolved completely; he floated over to where she sat, lifting her chin with a paw. "I take your tears as a sign of regret, guilt, and possibly indigestion." He evaporated the drops, leaving Alice quite tired and dry-eyed, and said gently, "Perhaps you ought to return to the ball? From what I saw, poor Hatter is losing his head, again." Alice nodded and stood; taking a deep breath, she swiftly walked the path back to the entrance to the ball.

* * *

Blinding lights, when had the lights become so bright? Bright white lights were focused especially on him, the hatter felt, as he was left kneeling in the middle of the entirety of Underland; kneeling alone, for Alice had fled... _Fled?_ _Yes, fled. The past tense of fly. Fled. Alice doesn't have wings, how can she fly? On foot. Her feet have wings? Is she Hermes? No, she ran from the ball. From the ball? From you._ _From me. _"From...me." Tarrant spoke the last part aloud, mostly to himself, partially to his hat, a tiny bit to his heart, which was now fluttering quickly and loudly in his chest.

"I need a moment," she had said, after he had waltzed her to the center of the floor and got down on his right knee, pulled a plush, red velvet-covered box from the inside of his coat (from a pocket he had sewed in for just _this_ occasion) and in no uncertain terms, asked Miss Alice Kingsleigh to be his lawfully wedded wife. The crowd had burst into applause, save for Mallymkun and Absolem: the former being that she detested all things Alice, and the latter because he detested all things whatsoever they may be, Alices or no, unless it was his hookah and tobacco. Tarrant felt like bursting into applause himself, the crowd excited him so, and Queen Mirana was looking on quite happily, but then he would drop the ring, and _that_ wouldn't do at _all_. So he had remained there on his right knee, holding the open, diamond ring-inhabited box out as an offering. A shadow had passed over Alice's face immediately after the ring was shown, and she stood uncomfortably before the kneeling Tarrant before stammering, "I need a moment," and running through the parted mass of ball-goers to take her escape into the White Garden.

How long had it been since she had gone? Tarrant was still kneeling in the softly murmuring ballroom, unsure of what he should do, since he had done all that Queen Mirana had graciously and gently instructed him to do, and yet, where was Alice? Alice, ringless on her left hand still, was not there. She was not there, and he _was_; suddenly he was feeling slighty sickish, uffish, and saddish, all at once. It didn't bode well within his mad body (much like the mercury hadn't) and a whole new madness was brewing somewhere in the back of his deteriorated gray matter. Suddenly a set of slow footsteps parted the dismal crowd once more, and there was Alice, clothed in a blue and gold gown that transformed the young woman into a divine goddess (Tarrant was sure an ancient god was looking down at that very moment and wishing her back _no no no, not yours, not yours, not mine either, but she's definitely not yours_ to whatever heaven had left her to the mere mortals.) with her hair in waves that took the light and radiated it back tenfold. Alice paused in front of him (still kneeling, of course) and bit her lip. A breathless moment passed between all in the room, then Alice was flinging herself into the arms of an absolutely shocked Tarrant, who dropped the box and therefore the ring. He didn't register this, however, as Alice was whispering, "Yes, yes, yes, I'll marry you, yes.." into his ear, and he found himself immediately alone with Alice, only she and he, and he was a million different things at once; all of them revolved around the one whom he would be marrying sometime in April (as tradition dictated).

Before the aloneness left them, Tarrant said, "Alice Kingsleigh, do you know that I love you?" To which a smiling Alice replied, "Yes. Tarrant Hightopp, do you know that I love you?"

Tarrant could only think of one affirmation, and that was to kiss her soundly and clearly, so there was no room left for misinterpretation to either Alice or the cheering crowd.


End file.
